


In Which Jon Brings Tim Home

by Verdant_Mercury



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Misunderstandings, Panic Attacks, Somewhat Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-03-22 00:12:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13752132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verdant_Mercury/pseuds/Verdant_Mercury
Summary: Jon has a long day, and somehow ends up taking Tim home with him. It doesn't go like either of them plan.





	In Which Jon Brings Tim Home

Work was easy to return to if you didn't count the people. It was familiar, almost normal. It's the same work, the same office, the same places. It felt right in a way that Jon had started to associate with bad. It did nothing to settle the anxiety that still churned deep and low in his gut. Nothing Jon tried had helped, save for the time when he was able to lose himself in a statement. Even that victory felt bitter in his mouth. Jon was only free from his own worries only because he had taken on other's.  
  
It sat there even before his 'medical leave'. Like a stone, the knowledge that something was wrong still even with the...Jon sighed. Even if he knew the Archives was still somewhat secure from outside influence.  
  
It was a worry that grew deeper and deeper until he would wake up, slick with sweat from the wisp of a ni-dream. They were dreams. The fleeting dreams that stayed in his subconscious. The contents were vague, distant but the sensations remained. They were not memories. Dreams should not hurt him. Jon would not allow it.  
  
Jon struggled against the shame that tried to take root. At least, not any shame that was not already there. The deserved shame. He could not allow Elias' past words to affect him. Even if they were said to calm, and correct. Jon couldn't manage any more statements than once a week. He tried even before when he denied the strange truth that concerned his job.  
  
He tried again. He tried to record more than one statement, and it ended badly. He started a statement with no intent to finish that day. The flow that had once came with little effort was downright strenuous. It was all or nothing it seemed and Jon fell short of all. He tried not to think what going 'all in' would entail.  
  
Jon had to learn more, to protect them, protect himself. His struggled efforts to get caught up caused more danger and injury than anyone (sane) would like. He had to understand. He had to be good at this. If his assistants were to survive, he had to be better.  
  
With all his worked hours, it’s not a surprise when weariness tugged at his eyes. The words on the paper became unfocused as the urge to rest became more and more prevalent.  
  
Jon didn't know where Martin was exactly. Around, he supposed. Melanie had been sent out to do a follow-up. Basira and Daisy were...somewhere. It had to be a quick nap then. Enough to be able to continue till the end of the day. Jon wondered if the bed in one of the backrooms would be free, or if Tim would have already taken it again.  
  
He didn't want to deal with Tim. Martin, would act worried if he knew Jon felt tired enough to sleep at work.  
  
Jon looked at his office door, shut but if someone wanted to get in, they could. It's not like he locked the door until he left for the day regardless. He looked around the office and his eyes landed on a box. It was close enough to the office door, enough so that he used his foot to nudge it against the door.  
  
The door would open, but the sound of the box being moved against on the floor should be enough to alert him if need be. Jon walked back to his desk, his hearing strained for any sounds that could penetrate the wood.  
  
Nothing.  
  
He sat down and propped his head in the crook of his good arm. He took off his glasses and placed them within arm's reach just encase. His eyes grew heavy before they finally slid shut.

* * *

The box doesn't wake him up. It was loud as the box scraped against bits of dust and dirt. It was not enough to wake him up. The sound of the door being shut though does. It's not an overt sound of a slam, yet Jon reacted all the same.

His body moved before his mind caught up. He scrambled for the letter opener with his bandaged hand at first, then he reached with his right. He blinked, once, twice. His heart raced, breath stuttered to only find it was Tim who stood there. His heart didn't slow, as a new sort of guilt bloomed fresh and new at how Tim looked at him. Jon opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He shut his mouth with aaclick of his teeth. There was no need to try and catch his breath because it had never picked up. Jon hadn't been on the verge of panting. No, just surprised.

His view of Tim was blurred and unfocused. Jon squinted before he looked down at the desk. The letter opener was still gripped in his hand, his knuckles were white around the cool metal. It had been Tim, and he hadn't expected to be woken up by him. Tim hadn't said anything sarcastic yet. It looked like he had been staring at him and _oh, right._ Despite how it might have looked, it wasn't an effort to release the letter opener. When it clattered against the desk, he finally plucked his glasses and pushed them on with a bit too much force.

“Tim, what-” Jon heard his voice and grimaced at the sleep roughened tone. He cleared his throat.

“I wasn’t expecting you.” He stated the words evenly.

“Obviously. You’re not going all paranoid again?” Tim stopped staring at him. Instead, he looked down at the box that had been placed in front of the door. "Cause I really don't want to deal with the whole creeper boss thing again. Already getting enough of that from Elias." He finished.

Jon flinched, despite himself. Tim, has had every right to be upset with him regardless of what Martin thought. Jon, himself would have been cross if Elias had followed him home. Though, there wasn't anything in that thought that could guaranteed Elias hadn't.

Something cold settled in his chest at being compared to Elias however. Tim's gaze flickered down to where the opener sat on his desk. Jon moved away from it, and looked to the clock. He exhaled, a forceful sound when he saw the time.

**_10: 17_ **

He would need to take the train home. Jon's stomach jolted, a phantasm's fear shivered through his body. The smell of dust filled his nose, the sound of metal that creaked under too much weight.

"Saw the light still on under your door." Tim's voice broke through the faint vestige of a dream. 

“What-” Jon bit back the question after the first word. The bruised skin around his neck throbbed, as if his body knew of exactly who and what had entered his mind. Vitriol echoed in his mind, and it was difficult to continue to remind himself to not ask questions as much. Much harder than Jon wanted to admit even to himself.

Better to have avoided it all together, or at the very least avoid Daisy and her disgust. It was hard still to wonder what a killer like Daisy saw when she looked at him. _Monster, most likely._ Jon reached up to tug against the collar of his shirt before he continued.

“I wasn’t aware anyone else would be here. I thought you would have all gone home already.”

Tim shrugged and looked toward him. Their eyes hadn't met. Tim looked at something past Jon.  
  
"Everyone else did. We're the only ones here. Martin left soon as the shift was done. Daisy and Basira left together again."  
  
Jon nodded, and continued to do so until he realized he had been doing it a bit too much. His mind scrambled through things he could have said. There were innocent comments, and questions that could almost be deemed safe.  
  
"You take the underground." It seemed safe enough a comment as Jon knew it before he ever tried to follow any of them home. He had heard Tim complain with- Jon stopped that thought right there. "You should be careful taking it. After dark."  
  
"Do I now? It's not like there's things out to get us. Oh, wait, no I forgot there are things out to kill us. Figure that out while you were stalking me, then?"  
  
"I-no! No, I just remembered you talking about it. Before, I mean."  
  
"Really," Tim's voice was flat.  
  
"Yes, really. I just-" Jon stopped himself. He took a deep breath.  
  
"Didn't know you cared, Jon. With how special you are to Elias and all."  
  
"I'm not-I didn't mean anything by it Tim." An honest warning, a comment he had hoped Tim would perhaps take to heart.  
  
"You know what? Yeah, maybe I should be careful with how long it took for you to notice something was wrong with Martin."

“Tim-” Jon started, not quite sure what he had intended to say. Tim didn’t allow him to go further.

“Or-or here’s an even better idea. I could end up like Sasha and no one will have to deal with me being dead in the first place.” Tim’s voice raised with clear anger. His mouth curled and he looked at Jon as he continued. “Oh, coworkers might care for me? Well tough because the Archivist doesn’t want to talk about it so we won’t!” He ended it with a shout.

Tim continued to stare, eyes hard. Jon watched as Tim took a deep breath, and then let it out. His shoulders sagged.

"Just forget it, Jon." Tim's voice was strained with something, though Jon would guess grief. Tim didn't bother to look at him, and turned and started to leave.

"You," His heart felt like it was going to crawl up his throat. "-can come back to mine, if you'd like."

* * *

Even Jon, who extended the offer in the first place hadn't actually expected Tim to agree. There they were, in a cab with only the songs on the radio to break the silence. It wasn't something Jon did often. Rather than any sort of indulgence, it was a way to avoid the underground when he found himself out too late.  
  
The ride was quiet, awkward. The silence hung between them with the weight of Tim's words. It kept any conversation from being started. The option to simply play the rest of the fare and send Tim on his way had been another kind of temptation. Every time he gathered his breath to speak however, nothing would come out. More often than not Jon tried to sneak glances towards Tim, as if he was a schoolchild trying not to be caught. If Tim noticed, he made no mention of it. A part of Jon waited for the other shoe to drop; for Tim to snap at him again. He only looked more tired, with circles that spoke of sleepless nights. Tim appeared as weary as Jon felt himself.  
  
Words built up in his chest as they neared his neighborhood. Innocuous comments about the takeout places nearby, useless commentary about the area. There's apologies half formed and ready to be blurted out at his leisure. Excuses came forward unbidden, and made him feel a little ashamed to even think of them in the first place.  
  
Perhaps, this was the time when most people would offer the other comfort. A shoulder to lean on, a hand to hold. None of these things came easy to Jon. They took effort, a continuous choice he had to be aware of when he tried. Even then, even when he did try, there were a few instances where his brand of comfort was unwanted entirely.  
  
Jon paid the driver what they were owed with a quiet word of thanks.  
  
Tim finally looked at him, and simple raised a brow.  
  
Jon led Tim to his flat.  
  
It's a good sized place, with anything he'd need and neighbors who never got too loud. There was a few dirty dishes piled in the sink, some papers and books still strewn about. It's hardly a mess. He doesn't quite know what to do with Tim, and it was barely a concern that he doesn't take his shoes off when they get inside. Yes, Jon was concerned about Tim; or rather he was concerned about what to actually do with Tim. Tea, maybe? If he listened to Martin, a cup of tea could cure pretty much everything.  
  
The silence between them had drudged on for too long already.  
  
"Make yourself comfortable." Jon nodded to himself. His words almost sounded natural even to his own ears.  
  
Tim wandered further in, eyes scanning over the new environment. Jon never actually brought people over, and certainly not anyone from work. Jon went into the kitchen and filled the kettle with water.  
  
The most used part of his home would be his desk in the living room. It looked like a mess, but in truth, it was an organized one. There were papers and books, and his personal recorder was in there somewhere. It was most likely out of sight. Jon couldn't exactly leave all his research with Georgie. She would respect his privacy of course, but he had tested that as he refused to tell her what led to him to her doorstep. It had been better to take most of it with him when he went out.

There was only one bed but the couch and Jon were old friend's already. It wasn't a bad place to sleep and he had spent more than a few night's spent on it since his return. There bed could offer little more than restless stirring amongst the sheets. There was a bottle of scotch in one of the cupboards, but Jon shook his head at that idea. He stared at the kettle, when something floated in from the living room.  
  
It's his own voice, and Jon's stomach turned to ice.  
  
He knew what was there, the snippet of his own voice that drifted from the living room. It hadn't been in sight, of that he was sure but as a wave of ice overtook his veins; he knew it was hidden from sight.  
  
Something in him frozen as he stared at the counter as if it could do anything to stop the recorder. Obviously, he wanted to move, to go to Tim and do what? Stop him? Get him away from the desk? Force him out entirely?  
  
He had shown fear to his assistants before, through recordings done and when the Archives had fallen under attack. It doesn't make it easier as he remembered; Emotions he had never, would never show them properly. He wanted to try, to figure out more about that evening with Leitner, about what Gertrude may have planned. There were more than a few drinks in his system then but even in the alcohol fueled haze he wasn't able to press play.  
  
His legs shook under his weight as the world felt distanced, even though he heard everything so clear. The emotions that led up to that evening in the Archives play with an awful clarity. There was hate, and anger, yes. Despair, intermixed with grief because he didn't notice. (None of them did.) He had been too blinded by his emotions to see what was right there and that anger towards himself never faded.  
  
He remembered the emotion that felt cruel in his chest, that settled like a weight until he got the ax in hand. Only tempered with the relief as Martin and Tim left, when Jon thought they did. His breath had started to come much too fast as panic started to well up. The emotions came with a clarity that burned and he finally stumbled away from the kettle.  
  
His vision blurred behind his glasses, stinging with tears that just begged to be let go. Jon's own wavering voice urged him forward until he reached Tim. The other man's back was rigid as he looked down at the recorder clutched at the recorder tightly in his grip. Jon knocked into Tim's shoulder. He can't do anything but wretch the recorder from Tim's grip with his good hand, though his bandaged hand raised as well. His feet don't stop as he moved away, putting the couch between them. He fumbled, and eventually cradled the recorder against his chest until he pressed down the stop button that was much too hard for the old thing. As he stared down, his eyes burned and hot wet tears finally spilled over.  
  
His breathing turned from shaky to full on panting and he couldn't catch his breath. It was like falling, like the Vast and that doesn't help as his breath became more and more out of control. The audio had stopped but the memories continue to ring in his ears. It's with such a clarity he should've realized wasn't normal. It wasn't human.  
  
Tim hasn't moved, hands still curled as if they were holding the recorder.  
  
Jon drew in another ragged gasp. The tears, hot against his cheeks haven't stopped and they can't because he's not in control and that fact _tore_ at him. He hugged the recorder close to his chest and started to curled inward as if he could shield himself from it but there's just too much. Rational thought cried out but was drowned out quickly by the torrent tide of emotions that struck him deep. Shame flooded his chest because Tim hasn't moved but that didn't mean he wasn't listening. There were instincts to push Tim out so he can manage the breakdown in privacy; to be alone as he shook apart on a weekday night.  
  
The truth of why he doesn't was a harder pill to swallow and he knew. Even as the wave of emotions crashed down he knew. Something in him, brittle and quiet yearned for comfort no matter how small. To be left alone with the guilt that choked his throat and the tears that continued to fall; it ached so deeply. Tim was likely to forgive him as Elias telling him the truth. That doesn't stop the apologies, half formed and weeping that wanted to spill from his lips.  
  
Jon just stared down at the recorder in his hand's tight grip. It was something he could focus on, familiar. It felt so right to hold in a way that made his stomach lurch. Instead of attempting to speak, Jon tried to bite back the shuddered gasps and stifle sobs. He didn't notice when Tim finally stirred when he finally looked at the mess Jon was.  
  
Jon started to hold his breath for a few seconds at a time and released it as shaky exhales. It was probably not the best way to stop what was most likely a panic attack. The tears haven't stopped but with some effort, he reigned the panic back inch by inch. It could have taken minutes or it could have been hours that Tim had been looking at him. All he knew was the sight of Tim, who looked at him and it almost looked sad, made shame and he turned away.  
  
He shook his head once, twice and then he tried to speak.  
  
"Why did you-Tim, what did you want to get by coming here?" There was a chance the words could have sounded harsher, if Jon's voice wasn't so choked with tears.  
  
"You," Tim sighed. "You invited me, Jon. At first, I wanted to corner you, let you know exactly how I felt. No Martin around to but in about teamwork or the feeling of being watched all the damn time. But then you were so fucking quiet, looking at me like you were expecting so-something."  
  
Jon didn't even try to interrupt as he breathing slowed enough until it was shaky exhales.  
  
"What you did was shit, leaving me with that mess. What you did to Martin and how I had to listen to him try to do your job and how quiet he got after the police came round. You didn't even try to talk to us, Jon!" Tim's voice rose. "You didn't even think to tell us that Sasha was killed, murdered!" He was shouting then. "You didn't even think for a second, did you? Didn't even think that Martin is so bloody loyal to you, God knows why, because you're a shit liar Jon. He knew something was wrong. We both did and we were almost killed by a thing in the tunnels and you just fucking left us in the mess." Tim was panting by the end of it and Jon just wanted to curl away from its sound.  
  
The change from Tim's rage to the heavy silence made his ears ring with the absence of it. The tears had slowed but continued to slide down his face. Jon didn't look at Tim.  
  
"...Did you really think I killed someone?" Jon didn't actually want to hear the answer, but the words left his mouth anyway.

The silence stretched on before Tim sighed.

"A bit, yeah."  
  
Jon's breathe hitched. The ache in his chest pulled as his throat. If Tim noticed anything different, he didn't comment on it. Instead, he continued.  
  
"I was pissed. Thought you got out because Elias certainly wasn't giving a damn about it all. You vanish, and all I could think was that you got out of that place. Course Elias didn't care because it was _you_." Tim spat the last word before he took and shuddered breath and shook his head. "You look like shit, Jon and unlike me, you didn't get any better looking when you got back. Then, I find your papers and your recorder and realize you never even stopped. Daisy hunting you, away from that place and you just kept doing it." Tim started to run a hand through his hair.  
  
Jon took a few more breaths and tried to pretend he’s was regaining control.  
  
"I couldn't." And he sounded so wrecked, by tears and the hyperventilating. "I just, Tim I can't just not do it." Jon tried to release his grip on the recorder to it least wipe at his tear stained face.  
  
“I’m so sor-” Jon didn't get to finish.  
  
"Shut up!" Tim snapped. "You're acting like you did it, all of it! Like you killed Sasha, and for every one of us trapped there but you're not! We're all trapped because of that god damned beating heart looking on like the smug bastard he is." Tim's shoes pounded against the floor as he approached. Jon wasn't able to stop the cringe that flashed across his features as Tim rounded so he was in full sight.  
  
"What you did before, what you're still doing doesn't fucking work, Jon. Acting like you can protect us won't actually mean any of us are safer. It's a mess and you can't fix it." Jon refused to look at him and Tim grabbed his shoulders in a firm grip. "You can’t fix what happened, Jon. With you, us. Martin, me, Melanie even Basira and Daisy. You not doing any of us any favors not telling any of us what's happening."  
  
Tim stepped closer into Jon's space. He released his shoulders and reached down for the recorder. Jon's hands flexed against it, but Tim moved slow. He tugged against Jon's grip until he slowly started to let go. The tremor in his hands was more apparent with nothing left to hold onto.  
  
Jon chanced a quick glance up to Tim's face. His eyes were hard as he looked at the recorder and Jon was only a little afraid he'd press play again. Then, Tim leaned past Jon, to the right and threw it onto the coffee table by the couch. Jon looked away before he could meet Tim's eyes. They were standing close, almost enough that Jon could have felt the warmth radiating off the other man. Jon couldn't stop himself as he leaned in closer.  
  
"You look like shit and it's not all your fault. Some of it is but not everything." Tim's words weren't very kind but something so brittle and weak in his chest surged anyways.  
  
Tim moves closer, pressing in on his space and Jon can almost feel the warmth radiating off his body. He leans in almost subconsciously. Tim lifts his hands again and Jon almost flinches. He moves them slow, deliberate and then places them on his shoulders.  
  
"I-I feel like it, that some," He exhaled and let the sentence die. Jon tried for a smile but it came across more as a grimace. He didn't know if he would be allowed the comfort of a hug, but maybe....Tim stood taller than him, and he needed to look up just to see if he meant it, to see no sneer or glare to his face. He gathered as much control as he could muster.  
  
There was pity, intermixed in Tim's eyes. If Jon hadn't already felt so raw, so worn out he might have felt irritation at that. At least it means that Tim may think of him as something better than Elias at least. Pity may be better than hate. He parted his mouth to speak, though he didn't know what. He leaned forward.  
  
Jon didn't expect the kiss.

Tim's lips were chapped as they pressed against his own. It was firm and warm and something stirred in his chest, something that overtook the ache that rooted so deep in his chest. Thoughts slipped from his grasp and he simply enjoyed. It's gentle and that was almost the most surprising thing about kissing Tim. The other thing was how warm Tim felt.

Then Jon realized he was kissing Tim and pulled back. He didn't know when he started to clutch at Tim's sleeve with his good hand nor when he shut his eyes. Tim looked about as half as surprised as Jon felt.

Jon's mouth parted, ready to ask a question. Words failed him.

"Yes or no?" Tim asked instead.

It's was a bad idea. Elias was pushing him already to go out to get more statements away from the Institute. They are coworker's, even with whatever the Institute fell under. There's was something more, a brittleness in his chest and that almost counted as another reason for no.

Jon's answer was known only when Tim tried to pull away. His hand tightened it's grip against his shirt.

"Alright," Said Tim. He leaned forward and Jon closed the gap between them with a longing so sharp it surprised him.

The second kiss was not as good as the first, but he thought it got better as they pressed together. Tim pressed a hand against Jon's face, cupped his cheek as they continued to trade kisses. Then, Tim's tongue was added and it got harder to follow along. Jon's face was still dampened but Tim didn't show any sign he cared. Instead, Tim pushed Jon back; his hands moved down to his waist as their kisses became sloppy and wet. Jon's breath came faster but it was so much _better_ than his maybe panic attack. When Jon pulled back for air, his lips were red and his face was warm.

Somewhere along the way, Jon ended up being pushed on his back on the couch. Tim crawled on top of him before he could try to position himself. He only had enough time to move his injured hand out of the way before Tim continued to ravage his mouth. The other man didn't let him catch his breath for long before he pressed in close again. Instead, he pressed kisses and bites down Jon's neck. His face flushed even more as it really shouldn't feel as it good as it did. He can't quite stop the quiet moans that left his mouth as Tim bit down near his collarbone.

Tim's braced himself over Jon and straddled his waist proper. Tim's weight was a pleasant one and it only increased when Tim's hands started to wander. Jon almost felt safe in the embrace. Tim's hands teased at the hem of his shirt briefly before he pushed slightly chilled fingers against his warm skin. It continued like this for a while, though how long Jon couldn't really bring himself to care. When Tim finally pulled back, he allowed himself to be pushed back by Jon's good hand. Jon desperately needed to breathe and there was just so too many sensations that he needed just a few seconds.

Tim looked down at him, eyes skimming over the skin revealed underneath his shirt. Tim's hair is a mess as Jon had maybe tangled his own hands in the locks? It's hard to remember when there was so much more to feel. They make eye contact. Tim's nails dug in hard enough to make him wince and he looked away.

A question, no, a request bubbled up behind Jon's mouth. The desire to take more, to ask for more. Jon opened his mouth and then stilled. Something cold clawed up his throat and his eyes widened a little as something clicked into place. Perhaps, it was not better to be pitied. The ache bloomed anew, as the cold swept through his chest. This was not an act of passion or even affection. Tim looked at him with pity because Jon had a breakdown. The warmth was not legitimate, and he had no right to take as much as he had already.

His hand shook, but it was not with heat or lust.

"I..." His voice was not steady enough and cleared his throat. "I can take the couch. The bed is yours." Jon pushed against Tim's chest. His brow furrowed in response but Tim clambered off his waist and stood. His eyes flickered down, _a question maybe_ but in the end, he didn't voice it.

"Right," Tim's eyes darted towards the front door for a moment but it's was enough for Jon's stomach to sink further down.

"Good night, Tim." He sounded tired and worn. Jon couldn't be bothered to hide it. He didn't look at him, and Jon didn't try to either as Tim shuffled away. His floor creaked by his bedroom door, and he could feel Tim's eyes on him. Still, Jon refused to look up.

His bedroom door opened and shut.

Like a puppet with its wires severed, Jon sagged heavily against the couch. Tears burned anew behind his eyes, the ache now high in his throat making him want to choke with the tide that came in. He took a shuddered breath and mouthed _breathe_ to himself. Another attack would leave him rawer, more worn from it all. Jon shut his eyes tight but the tears slipped past anyway, disappearing into his hair. He covered his eyes with his arm.

" _Breathe_ ," He choked out, quiet and strained.

His body felt chilled without Tim's warmth but the alternative... He breathed another shaky sigh as the tears increased. Tim would sleep, Jon would sleep and they will not talk about what happened tomorrow. Jon would get used to sleeping in his own bed again and nothing will change. He laid there, wallowing while his bedroom sat silent.

Jon finally pushed himself up with his good hand, a few joints cracked as he did so. He shuffled back to the kitchen. The kettle was not on but it wasn't the warmth of tea he wanted. Glasses clinked as he pulled out a mug and spilled a generous amount of scotch into the mug and went back to the couch.

It would be a long night with the sensations of Tim's hands that still danced across his skin. He took a long drink.

* * *

It's not a morning after, not really but that didn't stop how it felt like it was. Tim woke early, the sky still dark and the flat, quiet. He lied still, ears straining to catch any sound of Jon beyond the door. No footsteps or the clatter of dishes. _A good sign._ He got up off the covers he didn't remove and slipped on his shirt and socks. He held his shoes in one hand as he opened the bedroom door.

Jon's foot was the only thing in sight. A blanket was thrown over the couch. He peered down at Jon, half covered by a small, space that reminded him briefly of a tent of all things. His face was barely visibly. The circles under his eyes remained, but his face looked lax. It didn't look peaceful by any means. Something twisted in his gut and he hurried past.

He grabbed the keys by the door and stepped out. He fumbled with the lock for a few moments before he found the right one. He shoved the keys through the mail slot, slipped his shoes on and started home for a shower and fresh change of clothes.

* * *

**Tim**

_Stop worrying Martin so much and figure this mess out._

 

**Author's Note:**

> As I wrote this, the video of He-Man singing What's Going On played in my mind with the clarity of the Archivist.


End file.
